PILGRIM HEART

I go to the desert to pray,
traveling on clay roads deeply rutted
by pilgrims seeking silence and rest
so to still their hearts enough to listen.

To hear the sounds of wind-whipped trees,
born of random seeds deeply rooted
near the banks of a wildly running river
fed by silt-filled mountain streams.

To hear the voice of the Beloved,
in these songs of God’s rich creation
takes a heart attuned to Beauty
and eyes that see all things as new.